


Never Let Him See You Age

by HarmonySong



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Pregnancy, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-28
Updated: 2016-08-28
Packaged: 2018-08-10 22:50:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7864576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HarmonySong/pseuds/HarmonySong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Positive. </p><p>You curse that plus sign in your head, and murmur the same words out loud with as much heat as you can muster without alerting the nearby Doctor of your predicament. Those tiny, evil little plus signs, scattered across the bathroom counter, apparently hellbent on destroying the one good thing you had in your life. </p><p>You're not stupid. You're under no delusions as to what your relationship with the Doctor is. Yes, of course it's far more than what he's had with most of his companions, but in the end, that's all it is- sex." </p><p>When you find out you're pregnant with the Doctor's child, you decide to take drastic measures. What happens when he finds out?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Let Him See You Age

Positive. 

You curse that plus sign in your head, and murmur the same words out loud with as much heat as you can muster without alerting the nearby Doctor of your predicament. Those tiny, evil little plus signs, scattered across the bathroom counter, apparently hellbent on destroying the one good thing you had in your life. 

You're not stupid. You're under no delusions as to what your relationship with the Doctor is. Yes, of course it's far more than what he's had with most of his companions, but in the end, that's all it is- sex. Even Time Lords get the urge to scratch that itch occasionally, and to the Doctor, you were attractive enough for it to work. Not in the conventional way, no, that's not how the Doctor thinks. His people don't feel attraction according to physical appearance, not necessarily; they mostly feel it according to mental compatibility. Physical appearance is simply the cherry on top, which is one of many things about them you think humans could stand to learn. 

You've heard the Doctor's stories of Gallifrey; how he had a family, a home, and how he and the Daleks destroyed it. He had had a wife, he'd told you once in the dead of night, after you were woken up by his screams. And children. And the Daleks had killed them. He'd activated the time lock shortly after. 

So, given his _slightly_ traumatizing past with both relationships and families, combined with the fact that, although  _you_ feel something more than just platonic, or even sexual attraction, you know he doesn't feel the same (you doubt that he even _can_ feel anything more than platonic attraction for a human)...well, you have a fairly good idea that your news will not be accepted with joy, to say the least. 

Best case scenario: the Doctor drops you off at home under the grounds that 'our baby needs protecting and it's too dangerous for you to stay with me.' Also known as: dump the money-less young woman at her college apartment and never come back again. 

Worst case scenario: the Doctor drops you off at home under the grounds tha- yeah, you get the point. No matter what happens, you're screwed. 

In a fit of fury, you chuck one of the pregnancy tests against the wall. It makes a disappointing clink and drops to the ground, where you glare at it. The TARDIS makes a disapproving humming sound in the back of your head and you apologize to her, attempting to explain your predicament. As you do so, you realize that she might very well decide to tell the Doctor, and you hastily cut off, but not before she's already seen everything. 

There's a pause, and then even though she doesn't say anything, you feel a sense of calm emanate from her and realize she's trying to comfort you. _Thank you,_ you tell her, grateful that at least someone's on your side for this. 

 "(Y/N)!" the Doctor yells. "You've been in there for ages! What's taking so long?" you check your watch; you've been in the bathroom for about 16 minutes. Hardly an age. 

You scoff. "It's been, like, fifteen minutes. Calm your hyperactive brain, dude." You hear an offended gasp and allow yourself a small laugh.

"Dude? I'm not your  _dude!"_ he exclaims. "Do I look like a  _dude?_ Why would Americans ever make up that word, dude? It's such a stupid word.  _Dude._ _"_

"Ah, how very British of you, yourself," you mock, surreptitiously gathering up the tests and dumping them in the very bottom of the trash can. "You know, for an alien, how do you manage to sound British?" 

He huffs. "I don't sound British, British... _people,"_ you can  _hear_ the hand wave, "sound Gallifreyan!" 

You look in the mirror, making sure you don't look like you've been crying, then open the door. "Mhm, I've  _never_ heard that one before," you tell him, forcing a grin. "Or anything similar, like that whole 'Time Lords don't look human, humans look Time Lord' thing you were ranting about for  _months."_

 _"Months?_ It was four days,  _at most!"_

"Yeah sure, four days, and I'm Cleopatra! It was  _weeks!_ I couldn't say anything about humans or Gallifrey without you muttering 'humans look Time Lord.' If I had a penny for every time you said that one fucking sent-" 

"Four days!" 

You cross your arms and glare at him. "Weeks. At  _least."_

"Four days," he repeats stubbornly.  _"At most."_

You silently stare at him. He stares back. 

The Doctor is the one to break it first; he heaves a defeated sigh. "Fine. Two weeks. And," he jabs an accusing finger at you, "I'm being generous." 

You snort. "Oh, how generous, oh great lord. Your generosity never fails to astound me, Your Highest Majesty." 

He glares, but you can tell he's fighting a smile. "Oi, shut it, you." 

You wink purposefully, stepping a little bit closer. "Make me, Doctor." 

"Yeah? Well maybe I will," he grins, pressing closer, sliding one hand around your waist and cupping your chin in his other. His lips brush yours gently, then with more fervor, until your back's against the wall and you're both gasping for breath. He hoists one of your legs around his waist and half-picks you up, the effort seemingly insignificant, and rocks his hips against yours, desperately seeking friction. The moment his hands touch your pants, unbuttoning them and starting on the zipper, you freeze. 

This- what you're doing right now- is exactly how you got into your current predicament in the first place. 

 _But what's wrong with having a little bit of fun?_ Your brain asks.  _After all, you're not going to be around much longer._ Unbidden, tears spring to your eyes and although you do your best to blink them away, the Doctor catches on immediately, releasing you and swiftly stepping backwards, away from you. "(Y/N), what's wrong? Are you okay? Did-did I hurt you?" he glances down at his hands, like he's expecting there to be blood on them. 

Despite your efforts, more tears well up, a stray one running down your face which you desperately scrub at with one hand. _Great going,_ you think bitterly.  _One minute, you're perfectly fine, the next, you completely ruin the mood with one of your pathetic blubbering attacks._  "I-I'm fine," you say through sobs, not knowing if you want to collapse in a ball on the ground or run somewhere safe. 

He gives you a look. "Yes, fine, you look  _extremely_ fine right now." 

"I don't need your sass right now," you mumble, wrapping your arms around yourself. 

He reaches towards you hesitantly, eyes uncertain. "(Y/N), is- is it something I did? Did I hurt you?" 

 _No,_ you think darkly,  _not yet, at least._ "No, it's- it's-" you gasp out a sob, covering your mouth.  _Fucking pregnancy hormones._ That's what you're gonna blame, anyways. "It's-" another broken sob comes out of your mouth.  _Well fuck that,_ you think, and run, deep into the depths of the TARDIS. It's not like you had a legitimate explanation for it, and you're sure as hell not gonna tell him the truth, so this is really your only other option.

 _Please,_ you beg the TARDIS,  _please give me somewhere to hide until I can get out of here._ You can hear the Doctor's footsteps behind you, along with his voice as he calls out for you to stop, to please tell him what's going on, and then over and over again that he's not going to hurt you. Ironic, that, that he would say that so many times when he's the one that's going to be kicking you out on your ass the moment he finds out. 

And yeah, you know it's not like the two of you were actively trying to prevent it or anything- hell, he doesn't even use condoms, for goodness's sake- but you  _have_ been taking the pill, and you thought that'd be enough. Hell, you hadn't really even thought it was  _possible_ for a human to procreate with a Time Lord, but here you are, pregnant with his child. 

Finally, exhausted, you duck into a room and crawl into the corner, panting and crying, stifling your sobs by burying your head into a nearby blanket. The Doctor runs by a few minutes later, sounding equally tired, and stops a few feet away from the door, panting almost as hard as you are. He's silent, but you can only imagine what he must be thinking- the amount of guilt he must be feeling, for he surely still thinks he somehow hurt you during your shared make-out session. 

After a few minutes, his breathing lessens and you hear a rustle of clothes. "C'mon old girl, couldn't you at least tell me where she is?" he asks quietly. "I know she's your favorite and all, but come on, just this once?" there's a long silence, and he must finally give up, because he turns back around the way you came and walks away, footsteps heavy and dejected. 

 

* * *

 

It takes you several hours of careful planning, but you think you finally have a way off this ship without telling the Doctor a thing about his child. What he doesn't know won't hurt him, right? 

Right?

The first thing you do is write him a note. 

_Dear Doctor,_

_You're probably worried about me, maybe wondering if some reincarnation of the Dalek Emperor or that one Ood we royally pissed off once took me. Don't be. I left of my own free will, and to be honest, I probably should've done this sooner._

_Please, Doctor, don't feel guilty. I know you feel like everything is your fault sometimes, but don't. It's not healthy, plus, it's not true. I'm not leaving because of what happened last night- if that big brain of yours honestly ever thought that, well, I'd be surprised. But I'll say it anyway. None of what happened last night is what upset me. It's my own fault for what I did. Not yours._

You blink back tears, but despite yourself one hits the paper, marring a sentence. 

_There are things that are required of me to do now, things that would never fit in here- neither with you, nor this life. I'm so sorry, Doctor, but I have to go. Promise me you'll find someone else. You shouldn't be lonely._

_With love,_

_(Y/N)_

You look at the last few words, grimace, and scratch them out. It's tempting, yes, to tell him that when you'll never see him again, but you're not going to make it harder for yourself by wondering if he returns those feelings. You know he doesn't, he can't. 

You fold the note and put it in your pocket, intending to leave it on the console where he'll find it first thing next morning. With a sigh, you step into the corridor and trace your steps back to the console room, keeping an ear out for any stray sounds that could indicate the Doctor's still up and about. When you hear none, you breathe a sigh of relief and tiptoe in, carefully bending down to pick up an old vortex manipulator and placing the note on a switch. 

Then you leave, heading to your room as silently as possible to pick up the few things you let accumulate in there over time- various assorted alien valuables, such as a living glass flower, a tiny rock that sings if you put him under direct starlight, a fossilized butterfly, and more, along with a hair brush, a few sweatshirts, your phone, a necklace the Doctor gave you, and a few books. You manage to pack this all into two bags, and begin to lug them back out to the console, for no reason other than that you want that room to be the last thing you ever see of the TARDIS. It's a bit sentimental, you know- you're gonna blame the pregnancy hormones for kicking in already- but it's what you want. 

You set the bags down and strap the vortex manipulator on your wrist. Although you don't know the exact coordinates to your home, you know them for an approximate radius of a mile or so. You type them in, look around one last time.  _Goodbye,_ you tell the TARDIS, wincing as the distress gong begins to sound.

"No!" you hiss angrily, "you're gonna wake him up!" Grimacing, you fumble around with the manipulator once more, knowing that if you don't get going soon he'll be able to track the time energy from your bracelet. 

"Sorry,  _honey_ _,_ I'm already up." 

You spin, almost falling backwards from the weight of the bags, and punch at the manipulator, but your finger simply changes a coordinate.  _Shit shit shit shit shit what am I gonna do I'm in a never ending pile of shi-_ "Doctor! I-I wasn't expecti-"

"Well yes," he snaps, which makes you freeze because he  _never_ snaps, "I seemed to gather that from your  _note!"_ he holds the offending material aloft in one hand, accusing glare burning into you with eyes that look suspiciously damp. 

"You- you read the note." 

"Yes, I read the note," he growls, starting towards you. You fiddle with the damn device attached to your wrist, trying to change back the coordinate, and he scoffs. "That piece of junk doesn't even work right. I wouldn't waste my time on it. There's a reason I left it out in the open. I was gonna work on it but just never got around to it." 

You deflate. Everything seems to have gone silent, and now inside, a familiar fear winds up your stomach; fear of what's gonna happen now, what the Doctor's going to do now. It's much, much easier to leave when the person you're leaving isn't right in front of you; much easier to say 'damn the consequences' when those consequences aren't ones you'll ever have to face. 

"How did you already read it? I just put it there a few minutes ago." 

"I must've found it right after you left, because you weren't anywhere nearby when I found it. I read it, then went straight back to your room. When you weren't there, the old girl told me to come back here." 

 _Traitor,_ you seethe at the TARDIS. She doesn't deign to respond. 

"So, (y/n), I think it's safe to say that you owe me a  _damn explanation."_ another red flag; the Doctor doesn't curse. He's very, very angry. You automatically cringe away, not wanting to face his wrath. Unlike usual, he doesn't apologize, just stares you down with eyes glittering with rage and pain and tears. You see a single tear slide down his cheek and look away, biting your lip. 

"No," you whisper. 

He blinks.  _"No?"_ he repeats, and yep, bad move. "You wrote a  _goodbye_ note, telling me you're leaving me and you can't even offer me a damn explanation?" his voice cracks at the end and he looks away, cheeks wet. "You owe me at least this much, (y/n). After all we've been through together, you at least owe me this." 

"No," you say again, forcing yourself to look away, trying to combat rising nausea. If you look at him now, see how much he's hurting, you won't be able to do this. "If I were to tell you, you'd kick me out anyways, so what's the point? I don't owe you  _anything,_ Doctor. Not a damnthing. Don't you remember? We're 'friends with benefits',or so you said! I don't owe my  _fuck buddy_ an explanation as to why I want to leave!" 

 _"Fuck buddy?"_ the Doctor sputters. "Is that really all you think of me? After all this time, I thought I was more to you than- than-" he pauses, seemingly lost for words, "than a- a  _fuck buddy!"_

You look away and don't respond. He clenches his jaw. "Okay, then," he says quietly. "Okay. I'm- I'm sorry. For, for yelling at you. Yeah. Yes. I- I'll drop you off at your home." 

You open your mouth, but you're saved from having to respond when the nausea returns full force. You sprint to the bathroom and kneel by the toilet, heaving, eyes watering. "Fucking baby," you mutter between gagging and gasping for breath, only to realize too late when you hear a gasp from behind you that the Doctor must've followed you in. 

You turn horrified eyes to him, locking equally horrified gazes with the Time Lord. 

"The what?" he asks. 

You turn back to the toilet and retch one more time, before the nausea seems to abate somewhat and you turn back around, exhausted. "I'm pregnant," you tell him defeatedly. 

He puts his head in his hands. When he takes them out, he looks so much older. For the first time, he looks his actual age instead of the 20-year-old body that holds him. 

"Who's the father?" 

Despite everything, you can't help but give him the most done look you can manage. "Who do you  _think?"_ you snap out acerbically. 

He stares at you for a long moment. Really, it's almost offensive that he's  _that_ sure you're fucking around with other men without telling him. You might've been a bit cold in deciding to leave him without telling him anything (although look how well you're doing with  _that_ right now), but that's hardly cause to think you're cheating on him. Although you suppose fuck buddies can't really be cheated on. 

"Me?" he asks finally, incredulously. 

"Do you know of anyone else I've been having sex with?" 

"Well no, I just- I'm- I'm gonna have a  _child?"_ his eyes light up and despite yourself, you find yourself smiling along with him. "A baby? A real, live  _baby?_ One that smiles and talks and gurgles and poops in his diapers and makes a huge mess out of his food?"

"That is what babies generally do, yes." he seems...a lot happier than you would've imagined he'd be upon finding this out. "Why the he, though? It's totally gonna be a she." 

"No it's not," he retorts instantly. "That baby is as male as they come." 

"It's a unformed clump of cells right now! It can't even feel yet, much less be told male from female." 

"It's gonna be a boy," he insists stubbornly. 

You sigh and begin to cross your arms before stopping. "Wait," you stammer out, "You seem...awfully okay about this." 

"It's a baby!" he exclaims, lighting up again. "How could I  _not_ be okay with this? The last time I had a child, she was basically created at age 16 or something and I never got to see her growing up. Now I'll finally have the chance!" 

"Woah there buddy," you say quickly, thrown off. "You think that I'm gonna let my child be raised on a spaceship surrounded by danger at every turn? Do you think that your TARDIS is an actual safe place for a  _baby_ to live?" 

The Doctor blinks, looking like the idea had never even occurred to him. "Well- uh- it's my child, after all; I'm sure he'll be fine. Anyway, would you mind telling me why, exactly, you're leaving my ship? Other than, I guess, the baby?" 

 _Is he serious?_ You lean over the toilet and throw up again, coughing. "You've gotta be fucking kidding me," you mumble his way, panting.

He looks sideways at you. "I'm...really not." 

 _For the love of-_ "Do I have to spell it out for you? I was leaving before you found out and kicked me out yourself!" your voice is hoarse as you shout and it cracks at the end. You wince and clutch your throat.

"You- you were gonna leave because of the  _baby?"_ he asks incredulously. "Why on Gallifrey would you think I'd kick you out for that? It's not like it's your fault for conceiving when we haven't exactly  _tried_ to prevent it!" 

You sigh. "In a few months, I won't be able to join you in saving the world and all that. I'll barely be able to walk without hurting. And after that, we'd have to lug a kid around all the time. For all your talk about wanting a kid, I know you, Doctor. You're not gonna like being tied down for long. You can't just have a few-month trial and decide you don't want the kid after all; it's at least an eighteen year commitment. No shortcuts."

"I'm over a thousand years old. Eighteen more is nothing to me, (y/n)." 

"But it's not for me," you whisper. "I'm mortal, Doctor, and eighteen years from now, I'll have aged while you will look exactly the same. And, eventually, I'll die. Definitely in less than a hundred years, maybe sooner. That's why this can never work, Doctor, and why you need to let me go." 

His voice is barely audible when he replies. "Very well." 

He stands up and walks to the control room, starting the TARDIS up, shoulders hunched and sad. 

You watch him, tears running down your face, making your shirt wet. You watch as he drives her; you watch as he lands you. And, finally, with tears coming down so hard you can barely see, you watch as he opens the door and you see your old house- home. 

"Welcome home, (y/n)," he finally says. You numbly walk out, and he follows you. 

"I- I want to tell you that-" he pauses, and for a split second wild hope wells up in you. "That you were one of the best friends I've ever had." he gently places a kiss on your head, smiles sadly, and turns back to his ship.

And, as you feel your heart shatter and a despairing sob come up in your throat, he shuts the door behind him and they vanish. 

You never see him again.


End file.
